


On the Edge of the Night

by sugarlessgum



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Complicated Relationships, Developing Friendships, Drug/Substance Abuse, F/F, Found Families, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Fen/Margo/Josh, Musicians, Past Marina/Julia, Past Quentin/Alice, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, as in very much in the past, doesn't cause any real drama, questionable life choices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-02-27 14:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarlessgum/pseuds/sugarlessgum
Summary: Eliot is struggling under the pressure to produce his next album. It doesn't help that his songwriting partner is the love of his life — and his most recent ex.Julia is trying to keep her head above water after a stint in rehab. She's looking for a way to keep music in her life without repeating the catastrophe of her last band.Alice just wants out from under her parents' shadow. For years her music has been centered on other people's expectations, and she's ready to take back control.





	1. Nobody Really Cares If You Don't Go to the Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this au before the finale and I needed to take some time off after everything before I could finish it. I have a general idea of where I want this story to go but no real outline, so updates will come at random but somewhat frequent.
> 
> Title from "Under Pressure"
> 
> Chapter Title: “Nobody Really Cares If You Don't Go to the Party” - Courtney Barnett

_**Songwriter Steps Out of the Shadows and Into the Spotlight with Debut 'Mosaic'** _

_Anyone deeply involved in the music scene the past few years has likely heard the name Quentin Coldwater. The prolific songwriter has worked with such notable acts as Eliot Waugh and the up-and-coming DJ Hansel. After years of behind the scenes work, Coldwater takes center stage with his solo EP_ Mosaic. _In contrast to the power ballads and party anthems penned for other artists, each of the album's five tracks channel a lo-fi, folksy romanticism that sound like they could have been recorded in a fairy tale cottage. Coldwater's lyrics are drowning in wistful longing—for a lover, for a friend, for a far away childhood._

_The first and title track resonates with desperation and gentle urgency, reflecting on a lost relationship. "It feels like a lifetime / That I've been loving you," he confesses. There's been much speculation that the unnamed ex-lover is Coldwater's childhood friend and long-time collaborator Julia Wicker, former bassist for indie-punk powerhouse Vicious Circe. [...]_

 

Eliot woke up to the sound of his bedroom door slamming open.

“All right, sad sack. Time to get your ass out of bed.” He blinked until he could make out the blurry image of Margo looming over his bed. With a groan, he rolled over and burrowed deeper into the covers. “Nope. None of that.” His sheets were yanked away from his body and he desperately grabbed for an edge, dragging them back to his shoulders.

“But it’s so early,” he whined shamelessly.

“It’s noon.” She gave a final tug and left Eliot exposed to the chill of the apartment. “Jesus, are you still drunk from last night?”

“I’m still drunk from last week.” He gave up the fight, splaying his limbs across the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Between the lack of sleep and his blood alcohol level, trying to focus his sight on anything seemed an impossible task. Margo sat cross-legged against the headboard and ran a hand through his tangled curls.

“What’s going on with you, El?”

“Don’t worry, Bambi. It’s all part of the creative process. I’m trying to entice my muse out of hiding.”

“That reminds me: Fogg called again this morning.” Eliot let out a pitiable groan. “He wanted an update on your progress. I booked you some studio time next week, so your muse better gets its ass in gear before then." He hummed and let his eyes slip shut. That sounded like a Sober Eliot problem.

“You know, you could always call Quentin.” Eliot’s eyes flew open.

With his gaze trained on the ceiling fan and his voice carefully lax, he said, “Q’s got his hands full with his train wreck of a bestie right now. We shouldn’t bother him.”

“He’s been back to work for a while now, which I know you know. Unless you somehow missed his EP being released.”

“Must have slipped by me,” he lied. He had, in fact, been listening to _Mosaic_ on repeat for the last week and a half—a habit which inevitably led to him drinking his feelings into oblivion most nights. The look on Margo’s face told him she was very aware of this. Eliot suddenly felt entirely too sober for this conversation.

“Sure. Well, you really should give it a listen, especially considering half the songs are about you.”

“Those songs could be about anyone.” Margo arched a single eyebrow at him. “Yeah, I didn’t believe me either.”

“Call him. Sort your shit out.” She patted his cheek and climbed off the mattress. “Preferably before we go out tonight and you conveniently forget. Fogg is serious about getting some actual progress done on this album.” She reached the doorway and spun back to face him. “So am I. You need to stop fucking around, El.”

Reluctantly, he raised himself onto his elbows. “I really think it’s too soon for us to start working together again.”

“Tough shit. It’s getting done.”

“I knew living with my manager would be a mistake.”

Margo left him with a sharp smile.

 

Julia sat on the arm of their couch, cup of tea in hand. Quentin’s voice trailed from the hallway.

“I probably won’t stay longer than a few hours.” She hummed in acknowledgment and sipped at her now tepid tea. “Four tops.”

“Relax, Q. You’re going to a party not shipping off to war. I’ll be fine.”

He poked his head into the room, fiddling with his shirt buttons. He was wearing the same pinched-brow expression he’s had for months. Seeing it always filled Julia with the most infuriating combination of annoyance, appreciation, and guilt. He’d gone full-tilt into mother hen mode lately, which was as sweet as it was stifling.

“Are you sure you’re okay? It’s not too late for both of us to spend the night in, start up a Tolkien marathon.”

“You promised Alice you’d be there. Are you really going to abandon her all alone at a party full of strangers?”

“Penny will be there, it’s his party. Yet another reason I should stay here with you tonight.”

“Stop, he’s not that bad. This whole ‘pretending we’re not friends with each other’ thing you two do is getting childish.”

“You only say that because you barely know him,” he said, stepping fully into the room. “Trust me, spend more than ten minutes with the guy and you’ll see what a dick he is.”

“Alice seems to like him.”

“Well, they had the benefit of hating me at the same time in grad school. And they never let me forget it.”

“Poor baby.” Julia set her mug on the table and took Quentin’s hands in her own. “Seriously Q, go. We’ve been stuffed in this apartment together for weeks. And you know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but if we don’t take some time away from each other I am going to suffocate you in your sleep."

Quentin huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s fair.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and pulled their hands apart. “I’ll see you later,” he said on the way to the door. “But seriously, call if you need anything.”

“Yes, mom.”

Julia waited a full twenty minutes after the door shut before taking out her phone and pulling up Kady’s Instagram. It had become a nightly ritual since checking out of the clinic. There was a new post since the last time she checked. Just a low-lit, grainy video of her performing at a seedy bar Julia recognized as The Flying Forest. Ninety seconds of Kady alone with her guitar on the same small stage where they'd gotten their start as a band. Her finger hovered over the screen as she contemplated leaving a comment. After a few moments, she gave up and closed the app instead.

They hadn’t spoken in weeks. Julia had tried reaching out while she was in rehab but Kady, understandably, ignored most of her phone calls. Which was probably for the best. The few conversations they did have during those two months usually ended in frustrated silence and barely held back tears. Each argument was more closed off than the last and sometimes Julia wondered if they’d have been better off if they’d shouted each other down instead. But she knew their problems ran much deeper than addiction, had started months ago when Marina had been slowly and cruelly excising Kady from the band and Julia had been too caught up in her own shit to have her back. Now they were both out of the band and while Kady was thriving solo, Julia felt adrift.

She’d been too ashamed to reach out when she left the clinic, retreating instead to the relative safety of her and Q’s apartment where they've been dancing around each other with performative casualness and stilted affection.

Unlike with Kady, she and Quentin had gotten into a screaming match. It was only once, at about day twenty of her stay, but it had been enough to throw a grenade into their friendship. They’ve spent the last few weeks gingerly picking up the pieces while avoiding the shrapnel the argument left behind. The peace between them was tense and fragile, but Quentin hadn’t hesitated to welcome her back into their home. In a lot of ways, his forgiveness hurt worse than Kady’s silence.

Julia burrowed into the couch cushions and pulled her knees to her chest. She wished desperately for an escape. It was a dangerously familiar sensation. Normally Quentin would be here to talk her down or distract her, but she knew if she called him now it wouldn’t just ruin his night—it would convince him to spend another month in Julia’s voluntary house arrest. He'd already isolated himself too much for her sake, begging off social events and only leaving the apartment for work. Convincing him to go out tonight had been a dual effort on Julia and Margo's parts.

She sat huddled on the couch for an indiscernible amount of time, telling herself it was fine, she’d be fine, this was not a problem, before giving in and dialing her sponsor’s number. She felt the knots in her chest loosen slightly at the sound of Shoshana’s bright greeting.

She’d be okay. She had to be.

 

Eliot didn’t call and Margo didn’t press the issue. Which meant she was plotting something. She’d been uncharacteristically determined to get to the party on time. Eliot had never seen her care this much about a party they weren’t hosting.

That should have been his first warning.

They could hear the music as soon as they were off the elevator, which meant Penny would likely be getting an unpleasant call from the building’s super in the morning. It wouldn’t be the first time.

They let themselves into the apartment and made a beeline for the bar. They found Penny there making himself a drink. He gave them each a nod of acknowledgment as they approached. The three of them only knew each other because they were all signed with Whitespire Records and Penny had been roommates with Quentin in college. They had only the faintest of connections to each other, but it was enough to ensure they had an open invitation to each other’s parties. Eliot was willing to bet it was still a closer connection than most of the other partygoers had, who likely only knew him as DJ Hansel.

Penny pulled out a fresh bottle of tequila from under the bar and set it not too gently on the counter.

“Oh,” Eliot crooned, “you do the sweetest things for me.” Penny snorted and downed his own drink. Margo perched herself on one of the bar stools.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

“I’m not a fucking bartender.” Eliot watched them stare each other down before Penny finally huffed in annoyance and pulled out a second bottle. Eliot set about preparing his own signature drink when a sight across the room stopped him in his tracks.

“Bambi.”

“Hm.”

“You knew he’d be here tonight, didn’t you?”

She brought her glass to her lips, not meeting his eyes. “Who?”

Eliot shot her a dirty look before returning his gaze to Quentin Coldwater. It had been weeks since they last saw each other and the sight of him still left Eliot a little breathless.

“You said he was cloistered away indefinitely.”

“He was. And I convinced him it wouldn’t do him or Julia any good to shut themselves away in that hole in the wall apartment. One of them would’ve gone full Jack Torrence eventually and let’s be honest, Q doesn’t have it in him. He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Eliot was barely processing what she was saying, distracted by the way Quentin was smiling. Jesus fuck. This really had to stop. He tore his sight away from Quentin, landing instead on the woman he was smiling at.

“Who’s the blonde?”

“Alice Quinn,” Penny answered. This got Margo’s attention.

“That's Alice Quinn?”

“The very one.”

“Shit.” She followed Eliot’s gaze, dropping all pretense of disinterest.

“I’m sorry,” Eliot started, “but who the fuck is Alice Quinn?”

“She’s a prodigy,” Margo told him. “Comes from a whole family of crazy talented musicians. Classically trained.”

“Why do you know all this?”

“Some of us have culture, Eliot.” Eliot rolled his eyes and busied himself making an extra drink. He’d lost interest but Margo was transfixed. “She’s supposed to be some kind of savant on the violin. Not to mention one of the youngest people to join the Philharmonic. They nabbed her while she was still in Juilliard.”

“One of the youngest to leave, too,” Penny offered. Margo whipped around to face him.

“What?” Penny leaned back against the bartop, looking oddly smug.

“She joined our label about a month ago. She’s going mainstream.” Now that was mildly interesting.

“And what’s Little Miss Lindsey Stirling doing with our Quentin?” Eliot asked.

“College sweethearts,” Penny said. “They stayed friends after graduation. And occasional fuck buddies.”

Oh. Eliot re-examined the way Quentin and Alice were smiling at each other, the easy familiarity with which they held themselves.

“We should introduce ourselves. Welcome her to Whitespire.” Eliot grabbed his drinks and darted across the room, ignoring the pointed look Margo tried to send his way.

He spent the short trip concocting the perfect opening line, but any words fell away the moment Quentin caught sight of him. In a second, Quentin's smile changed from bright and laughing to a fragile thing.

“Eliot. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.” Things should probably be more awkward, considering the last time they spoke Eliot had broken both their hearts, but being around Quentin had always felt as natural as breathing.

“I’m surprised to see you out of exile,” Eliot said. “How’s life as a hermit?”

“Peaceful.”

“Well, welcome back to the chaos.” He passed one of the drinks on to Quentin, then carefully turned towards Alice as if he hadn’t been painfully aware of her presence. “And who’s this?”

Quentin blinked in surprise. He seemed to have forgotten she was there.

“Right, shit, sorry. This is my friend, Alice.”

Eliot put on his most charming smile and shook her hand. “Pleasure.”

Margo was quickly closing in on their small group. “No need for introductions. I can handle that myself.” Her smile was all teeth, a big cat eyeing her prey. “I’m Margo. I’ve already heard all about you.”

“You’ve heard all about my parents, you mean,” Alice countered. She was watching them both warily, like they were venomous. Smart. Margo’s smile got sharper.

“Actually, I heard you’re working with Whitespire Records. Small world. I happen to do a lot of work with artists there as a talent manager. It can be a tough place for someone just starting out. If you ever need a guide…” Margo trailed off, procuring a business card from seemingly nowhere. Alice held it away from her body between two fingers.

“I’ve already got one, but… thanks.” She darted her gaze between Margo and Eliot before finally turning to Quentin. “I’m going to find Penny. I’ll talk to you later, Q.” With that, she turned and walked towards the back of the apartment, in the complete opposite direction from where Penny was still very visibly standing at the bar.

“You brought business cards to a party?” Eliot asked once she was out of earshot.

“These things are full of wannabe artists and musicians. Of course I brought them.” Margo turned to Quentin. “Where have you been hiding her?” Quentin ran a nervous hand through his hair. It had gotten longer since the last time Eliot saw him. He absolutely did not think about running his own hands through it.

“I wasn’t hiding her anywhere. We fell out of touch for a little while.”

“Seems to be a habit of yours,” Eliot said, trying and failing not to sound bitter. Quentin cut him a frustrated look.

“Well, that’s hardly a solo effort, is it?”

“Now boys, play nice.” Margo linked her arms through each of their elbows, drawing them both closer to her. “This is the first time we’ve seen each other in weeks. Revel in it.”

Quentin let out a sigh and offered her a clipped smile. “You’re right. I missed you both.” Margo smiled back at him—one of her small, genuine smiles she reserved for her two favorite people.

“You and Julia should come over for dinner Saturday. It’s about time we started that tradition up again. Invite Alice, too.” Quentin arched an eyebrow. “What? I love it when they play hard to get. And I want to hear about your wild college days.”

“I’d hardly call them wild, but I’ll invite her anyway.”

“Perfect. Now, we could all use a few more drinks in us.”

 

Alice finally found refuge in the quiet of Penny’s bedroom. She had to evict a couple who were wrist-deep in each other’s skirts to do so, but she figured Penny would appreciate her saving the dignity of his sheets.

She locked the door behind her and perched on the edge of the bed, rubbing at her temples to stave off the headache that’d been building all night. She’d had a feeling coming tonight would be a mistake. She had tried desperately to get out of it, but she and Penny have known each other too long—he knew every counterargument to every excuse.

She’d assumed leaving the classical scene would give her space to breathe. It was just her luck she’d find the one person at the party more interested in her parents’ legacy than her as a person.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when someone pounded on the bedroom door.

“Alice? I know you’re in there. Open up.” Relieved, she unlocked the door and let Penny in. He slid into the room, holding an arm behind his back. Once the door was firmly shut and locked again, he revealed the bottle of Midori he’d smuggled in. Alice laughed in surprise.

“Oh god. What are you doing with that?”

“I was feeling nostalgic. It seemed fitting. The two of us hiding out during a party, drinking shitty liquor.” Penny grinned and took a swig out of the bottle. He passed it over to Alice with a grimace. “I figured you’d be in here doing that thing you always do.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you get caught up in your own head and assume everyone you meet thinks of you the way you think of yourself.”

Alice avoided his eyes, distracting herself with the Midori. God, it was not good at all. She still remembered the way Penny had described it back in college.  _Like melon crossed with perfume crossed with ass._  But he was right about the nostalgia factor. There was something oddly comforting about it.

“Sorry,” she finally said. “I know I made things weird out there.”

“So it’s weird, so what? Believe me, I know how overbearing Margo and Eliot can be. I probably should have warned you about the intense codependency thing they’ve got going with Coldwater.” He took another regretful sip of Midori. “Seriously, the first few weeks after we met them I was pretty sure they were trying to lure him into some underground sex dungeon never to be seen again. I was almost worried about him before I remembered I don’t give a shit.”

Well, that certainly explained the territorial way Eliot had been eyeing her at least.

“Hey.” Penny was giving her one of his looks—the _I want everyone to think I don’t give a shit even though I give the most shits_ look that few people have had the privilege of seeing. “Say the word and I’ll kick everybody out of here.” It was a ridiculous offer, one people gave expecting it to be turned down, but she knew he meant it.

“Don’t. I don’t want to ruin your party. You should go back out there, I’ll be fine.”

“Nah. You’re way more fun than those assholes anyway.” He started to bring the bottle back to his lips but Alice grabbed his wrist, laughing.

“Stop. If you’re going to lock yourself out of your own party for my sake, at least drink something halfway decent.” Penny pretended to think about it.

“Compromise. I go out for better drinks, you come with me so I can introduce you to the least asshole-ish musicians out there. I know Fogg wants you collaborating on a few tracks.”

“Is that why you wanted me here tonight? So I could rub elbows?” She always had an unspoken invitation to any party he threw, but this was the first time he had actually pressed the issue. 

“Figured it couldn’t hurt. Come on. You’ll only have to socialize for as long as the trip to the bar and back. Then we can spend the rest of the night in here until it’s time to kick everyone out for real.”

Alice thought about the imposing crush of people waiting outside the door. She thought about hiding away the same way she always did, reliving every party she’d ever been to with the same results. What was the point of leaping so wildly away from the path her family had set her on if she was going to end up the same antisocial, uncertain mouse she’d been turning into anyways? She took a quick shot of Midori for courage. Mistake.

“All right. Let’s go out there.” Fuck being a mouse.


	2. Nothing Seems As Pretty As the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How have you been? Since you checked out?”
> 
> “Honestly? Kind of frozen.” Julia flexed her fingers on the table, searching for the right words. “It’s like… My life was one way for so long and now everything is wildly different and I’m just trying to figure out what that means for me now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took much longer than planned to finish. Last month was crazy busy for me, but I have more free time going forward and an actual outline for this story so updates will come more frequently.
> 
> Title Song: "Fluorescent Adolescent" - Arctic Monkeys

Julia let the chill of the library wash over her and schooled her face to look as if she were paying attention. This week’s meeting was focused around a guest speaker and she was grateful for the excuse to stay mostly silent and get lost in her own thoughts for an hour while a stranger lectured them on the importance of the Twelve Traditions. She knew rationally she should be paying attention, but it was a speech she’d already heard more than once in rehab so she gave herself a pass. Once the meeting was over, she stayed behind to help Richard and Menolly straighten the room.

“You doing all right, girl?” Menolly asked as they stacked chairs. “You’ve been quiet today.”

Julia gave her a quick, flat smile. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind is all.” Menolly didn’t respond, just gave her a look that said Julia clearly wasn’t getting off the hook that easily. She briefly considered lying, but Menolly had been nothing but kind and patient from the moment they meant. The whole group had, really, which made sense. NA as a whole wouldn’t be very effective if its members didn't support each other. “I guess I’ve just been working on that ‘searching and fearless moral inventory.’ And struggling with the ‘fearless’ part.”

Menolly nodded in understanding. “Anything particular come to mind?”

“My friend Kady.” Julia wondered with a pang if she could even call them friends still. “I haven’t talked to her since rehab. And the last conversation we had wasn’t exactly… There’s just a lot of unresolved issues, still. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

“Did she ask you not to contact her?”

“No. No, it was nothing that bad.”

“Well, what’s stopping you then?” Julia didn’t answer right away. She and Menolly pulled their chairs over to the closet where Richard was carefully storing them.

“Because I’m afraid,” she finally said. “I don’t know if we can get past this. And a part of me still feels like I don’t deserve her forgiveness. She’s one of my best friends. I don’t want to lose her.”

“Honey, if you never talk to her again, then you have lost her.” She was right, Julia knew that. “Look, maybe she’ll forgive you, maybe she won’t. But I know from experience that not knowing is worse than anything. You’ll feel better once you have an actual answer to work with.” Menolly nudged her arm playfully. “You’re tough as granite. You can handle it.”

Julia smiled again, less forced than the last. “Thanks. I’ll try to remember that.”

 

Quentin knocked on the penthouse door around noon, which was highly unusual. He’d been given a spare key ages ago and had taken to coming and going without much fanfare. Over the past three years, he’d practically become a third roommate. He even had a spare toothbrush and a drawer full of clothes permanently stashed away in one of their guest rooms. Hearing him knock was a painful reminder of how deeply they were fucked. By the look on Quentin’s face when Eliot opened the door, he realized it too.

Eliot put on his best _everything is fine_ look and welcomed Quentin in. They’ve done this song and dance before, though never with as much transparently hurt feelings as now. They’d been doing the on-again-off-again hookups long enough that Eliot had assumed they both understood the unspoken agreement not to talk about it, and definitely not to mention feelings. Then Quentin had to go and break the goddamn rules.

“You want something to drink?” Eliot asked, already making his way to the kitchen. There was no way he was making it through this completely sober.

“Ah, I’m good, thanks,” Quentin called back from the living room. They’ve been writing together so long that Eliot could picture Quentin's routine perfectly. Pulling his guitar from its case, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook, setting up the recorder on his phone. Eliot grabbed the nearest bottle he saw and a couple glasses.

When he walked into the living room, Quentin was right where he’d expected—strumming a few warm-up chords on the guitar, his hair pulled back and a pen tucked behind his ear. Eliot took a few moments to compose himself before crossing the room.

“How much progress have you made?” Quentin asked after he sat down. “Margo said you were in pretty dire straits.”

Eliot rolled his eyes and poured himself a drink. “Margo is exaggerating. I have four and a half songs written. Ish.”

“Ish?” Quentin grinned at him. It was the same easy, playful smile they shared all the time and seeing it lifted a small weight off Eliot’s chest.

“They’re mostly written. Just a few odds and ends that need polishing.” Eliot flipped his own notebook open to the most intact piece. Quentin hummed and pulled the notebook closer.

“Did you have a rhythm in mind?”

“Not really. I want to experiment with a new sound this album.”

“New how?” Quentin’s eyes were on him now. Giving that soft, searching look that always made Eliot feel like he was being stripped bare, and not in a fun way. Eliot shrugged, keeping his gaze trained on his glass.

“Something darker. Softer. Less Broadway diva at a rave, more monster in the woods.”

“That, ah. Hm. Were you thinking concept album?”

“Maybe.” Eliot bit the corner of his lip and watched Quentin work. He was silently mouthing the words, absent-mindedly tapping his fingers against the guitar strings. After a few minutes of disjointed humming and notes scribbled in margins, Quentin played a few bars. The notes were soft but urgent, tripping over one another as if fleeing from something. Fleeing from themselves. It was—

“Perfect.”

Quentin smiled again, looking a little unsure. He always did have trouble seeing his own talent. Eliot suspected he could sell out an amphitheater of screaming fans and still not believe he was worth the crowd. It broke Eliot’s heart.

They went over the rest of the songs, finishing a lyric here, suggesting a chord there, discussing possible themes for the album. Any lingering awkwardness fell away as they worked. Music has always been easy with Quentin in a way it was with nobody else. He had a way of taking the broken bits of an almost song and weaving them back together. Like he could wake a melody up and help it remember what it’s supposed to be. They matched each other step for step, finishing what the other started, digging deep and finding the bits of emotion and personality hiding behind each lyric and building a strong foundation under it.

They had started the afternoon as far from each other on the couch as they could be without making it obvious they were doing it on purpose. But eventually—inevitably—they gravitated towards each other. By the time Margo came home, they were huddled in the center of the couch, only enough space between them for their respective instruments. She climbed over the back of the couch and dropped between them.

Margo plucked the notebook off the coffee table, scanning the muddle of notes now filling the page. “I take it today was productive.”

“Very,” Eliot told her. “We’ve got enough to start recording next week. That ought to keep Henry off both our backs for a while.”

Margo studied him from the corner of her eye. “Good.” She dropped the book back onto the table. “I’m starving. Let’s order takeout from that Ukrainian place down the street. You staying for dinner, Quentin?”

She said it nonchalantly, not even looking Quentin’s way, but Eliot knew better. They both missed Q and if Margo didn’t love Eliot so much, he’s sure she would’ve killed him a long time ago for messing things up.

Quentin followed her lead, turning to put his guitar away as he said, “Yeah, sure.”

Eliot and Margo each let go of a discreetly held breath. They would be fine. They all loved each other too much to stay away from each other for long. And that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? No matter how many times Eliot called things off, told himself and Quentin that nothing good would come from sleeping together, Eliot always came back. This was the first time it had actually caused a rift between them and those few weeks of silence were worse than anything Eliot had ever experienced.

He wasn’t going to risk it again.

 

Alice sat in Henry Fogg’s office at Whitespire Records. Beside her sat her agent, Sheila Cozener. This was her first meeting with Whitespire since officially leaving the orchestra and she was a bit nervous. If “a bit” meant “oh God there’s a boulder of anxiety in my stomach and I can’t breathe.”

“So, Ms. Quinn,” Fogg began from behind his desk. “What direction were you hoping to take?”

It was a question both he and Sheila have asked over the past month and a half of negotiations, and she was still no closer to answering it. She hadn’t really formed a plan beyond _get as far away from my parents as possible,_ but now that she was here she didn’t really know what that looked like.

Honestly, her primary motivation for coming to Whitespire had been a feature she did for Penny last summer. He wanted to remix classical and electric music, so he called her in to perform Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. It was the most fun she’d had making music in years. Though she suspected that had more to do with Penny’s involvement than the format itself. Still, when she finally broke down and fled the orchestra, Whitespire had seemed like the natural choice. The place where maybe, she might finally feel right.

Of course, none of this made for a very good answer to the question.

“I guess I just want to explore different types of music,” she said instead. “Work with some different artists. Find something that fits.”

Fogg observed her for a few moments, tapping his steepled fingers together. Finally, he spoke.

“Let’s start you off with an EP. Five or six songs. We’ll pair you up with some of our artists for a few of the songs, and the rest will be pure instrumentals.”

Alice looked to Sheila for input. She had met the older woman through what seemed like fate. When Alice left the Philharmonic, she was going through a minor meltdown. She fired her previous agent, stopped answering her mother’s phone calls, and moved out of her West End apartment and into a modest one-bedroom. She had started casting out nets in various agencies when Sheila reached out to her.

“I have a knack for finding lost things,” Sheila had said once, and wasn’t that what Alice was?

“It’s a good deal,” she said now. “You don’t want to be tied down to anything until you figure out where you’re headed. This gives you room to grow.”

Alice spent most of her life stifled under a legacy to uphold. Room to grow sounded pretty fucking nice.

“How soon should we start?” she asked Fogg.

“We’ll put you in touch with some of our writers next week. We’ll focus on composition first. It’ll be easier to find vocalists once we have a sound to match them to.”

Alice nodded, worrying the hem of her skirt with her hands. This was all becoming startlingly real. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

 

Kady was already sitting at a table by the window when Julia walked into the coffee shop. Julia was surprised by how relieved she felt to see her there. A small part of her had worried Kady might not show up.

She stopped by the counter first, just to give herself more time to think. For all that she’d thought about this moment, she had no idea where to start. The more she tried to sort through the mountain of shit that had become of the past year, the more insurmountable a task it seemed.

Kady rose from her seat when Julia reached the table. There was a tense, heavy moment where neither woman was sure which move to make. Finally, they settled into a hug. It was short and awkward, but it made Julia breathe a little easier. They pulled apart but kept their hands around each other’s arms.

“Hey,” Julia said. “It’s… It’s really good to see you.” Kady smiled, small and tense.

“Yeah. You definitely look better than the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I.” They let go of each other and took their seats. “Listen, Kady. I want to apologize again. Everything that happened with Marina and the band, I—”

“Stop. Honestly, I am so fucking sick of hearing you say sorry. It doesn’t mean anything. My mom would do the same thing all the time. Tell me how sorry she was and how she was so awful so I’d forgive her out of pity.” Kady turned her gaze out the window. “If you mean it, then you’ll show it. Act it.”

“You’re right, sorry. I— shit.” Before Julia had a chance to worry she’d fucked everything up, Kady scoffed and shook her head, a whisper of humor on her face.

“Forget it. How have you been? Since you checked out?”

“Honestly? Kind of frozen.” Julia flexed her fingers on the table, searching for the right words. “It’s like… My life was one way for so long and now everything is wildly different and I’m just trying to figure out what that means for me now.”

“I get that. Shit got pretty crazy for everyone at the end there.”

“Yeah…” They paused while a server brought over Julia’s tea. She bit her lip, looking for an exit from the awkward lull. It was impossible to talk about the band falling apart without acknowledging Julia’s part in it. And it was impossible for Julia to talk about that without apologizing. Again.

“I saw your video,” she finally said. “From The Flying Forest. You were incredible.” Kady shrugged it off but Julia could see how pleased she was.

“It was weird. Being up there alone.” The Flying Forest had been one of the first venues Vicious Circe ever played, where they had secured two or three gigs a month. It was even where they had caught the eye of Lovelady Records in the first place. Julia can’t imagine performing on that stage without the others. Kady glanced at Julia from the corner of her eye, a crooked smile on her face. “Do you remember our first show? Some dick started throwing his onion rings on stage.”

This startled a laugh out of Julia. “That’s right. You used your guitar to bat them out of the air. I think one of them hit Marina right in the face.”

“Pete had to rush on stage and stop her from jumping into the crowd to throw down.” They were both laughing now and Goddess, Julia had missed this. She felt so relieved just to have this that she was willing to ignore the voice in her head waving a red flag screaming, _“You still need to talk about it! It’s festering!”_

That was a conversation for another day. Menolly had been right. Not knowing if Kady could forgive her was worse than anything. She knew they still had a ways to go but for now, she was going to enjoy having her best friend back.


End file.
